


did it frighten you? the way we kissed

by juliabaccari



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 10:52:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12057468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliabaccari/pseuds/juliabaccari
Summary: Helene Kuragina visits Marya Dmitrievna on a late night with an urgent plea for help. She's shivering and barely dressed for the weather, but she wants to make things right. She also really wants Marya.





	did it frighten you? the way we kissed

It’s well past midnight, and the house is silent - the rustle of fabrics and gentle laughter that signify Natasha and Sonya’s presence quieted by sleep. It is like before her goddaughters came to stay with her, alone in a grand house, the candlelight soft and wavering against the darkness outside her sitting room. Marya sometimes stays up this late; in these moments she often allows herself to feel introspective, to review the loneliness that ate at her life before Natasha and Sonya arrived. She does not often allow such weakness, especially in the daylight. The Dragon of Moscow is an independent woman. But she must admit it has warmed the house up considerably, to have the girls here.

Now when she stays up late, she no longer thinks of how much time she spends alone, but she reflects on her goddaughters, sometimes. Both of them in love - that enviable but elusive thing, that which Marya has long since resolved herself never to have. A woman like her, if her secret was to be revealed, would be cast out of society - even in the more free-thinking Moscow. Marya is lucky enough to be wealthy with no need to marry, and she’d rather be alone than be forsaken by her friends and family here. After, love is not a reliable thing. Young men and women fall in and out love so passionately, and so quickly. 

She sighs and leans slightly against the window, feeling the cool glass through her shawl. It’s starting to snow again outside. The winters in Moscow can be bitter and harsh, but Marya finds them quite beautiful, even so. For all Natasha’s yammering about Andrey and the snowy, moonlit night they met, Marya privately agrees that must have been quite...romantic. But what does she know of romance?

Suddenly, Marya hears the crunch of snow in the front yard, too heavy to be a small animal. She sits upright, a furrow on her brow. Whoever it is, they move quickly - the sounds are near the front door in a matter of moments. Marya jumps out of her chair and hurries towards the door, holding her skirts carefully. There is no maid at this hour, and she doesn’t want anything to wake the girls. Her heart jumps. Someone calling at this hour - it could be bad news, it could be Andrey. She glances up the stairs towards Natasha’s room, frowning.

Before anyone can knock, Marya opens the door, just a crack. She sees a flash of metallic green and the shine of pearls, normally immaculate curls out of place, smudged lipstick on a pretty mouth. She sees a thick cloak thrown roughly over an acre of bare shoulders and neck, hardly enough protection for the weather. Hardly the shoes for it either. She sees the last person she would expect at her door at this time of night - Hélène Bezukohva. For once in her life, Marya is speechless.

Then she notices Hélène’s shivering, which looks painful, her pallor far too pale. Hélène does not speak even as Marya takes her arm, forcing her into the warmth of the house and shutting the door behind them. She’s breathing fast as Marya guides her - with as much speed and discretion as possible - into the sitting room. 

“Marya.” The Countess chokes out, voice hoarse. “Marya, we have to - we have to do something.”

“Hush. You’re in no state to tell me anything just now.” Marya says firmly, setting to work. She brings blankets for Hélène, and one of her own dressing gowns, taking away the snow-sodden cloak and hanging it in the hall. She makes tea. She tries not to wonder how her life became open to situations in which Pierre’s wife could be sitting, shivering and wet with snow and utterly alone, in the small hours of the morning, in her house.

Even after she is warmed, Hélène still looks upset and uncharacteristically serious. Marya sits down across from her, expression tense. 

“Is Pierre alright?” She asks, first. Hélène’s lip wrinkles, and she looks away.

“This has nothing to do with my husband.”

“Then why come to me? Why not go to him, he’s supposed to -”

“What? Protect me? Support me? Marya, I know you’re no fool. You should be under no delusions about the state - the farce - of our marriage. But that doesn’t matter.” Hélène sets down her tea without finishing it, suddenly leaning forward and grasping Marya’s hands. Marya lets out a surprised breath, but allows Hélène this. Her hands are still so cold. 

“Then what’s happened?”

“It’s gone too far. We have to put a stop to this, and I can’t - I can’t do it alone.” Hélène sounds loathe to admit this. “Anatole won’t listen to me any more. I believe he actually fancies himself in love! He always does, it’s true, but this - this is different, neither Dolokhov nor I can get through to him, it’s a mess…”

“Hélène, stop.” Marya says, firm, but kind. She finds herself squeezing Hélène’s hands, an attempt at comfort. “You’re usually more eloquent than this. What has happened? What do we have to stop? I don’t see why I should have anything to do with your brother, unless -” Her face darkens. “Not Natasha.”

“I -”

She tenses, jerking out of Hélène’s grip. “So this is why you visited the house while I was out last Sunday. This is why you invited her - us - to that ball.”

“That’s not - that’s not why I invited you. Anatole actually asked me to make sure Natasha was alone, but -”

“Oh, _did_ he?” Marya asks, voice laced with fury. She stands, needing something to do with the flare of energy in her body, and paces. “And you invited me for, what, your own amusement? So you could watch your brother snatch Natalya away while I was oblivious - while you -” She draws in a deep breath, red lips settling into a heavy frown. Hélène looks distraught, but Marya is beyond caring. Her favorite goddaughter - her sweet, innocent Natasha, savior of the family - she is in danger. It may already be too late, and if Andrey or Natasha’s father were to find out…

“No! No.” Hélène says empathetically, standing up quickly. The red of Marya’s dressing gown looks strange against her glimmering Parisian gown; she looks out of place for the first time in Marya’s recollections. “I wanted to dance with you, I wanted -” She breaks off as Marya nears her in her pacing, reaching out to grab her arm. “Please. I never meant for this to happen. I just thought it was - amusing - their little infatuation. I thought it would go no further than the ball. A little harmless dancing.”

Marya’s eyes flash, icy, and she turns more fully to pin her glare on Hélène. “Harmless, was it? Then why are you here now. Look at the state of you. Harmless, eh?” Her jaw tightens. 

Hélène makes eye contact and doesn’t waver, despite the distressed quiver of her mouth. “Marya, neither Dolokhov nor I could have suspected Anatole would take it this far. It’s impossible.”

“And how far did he take it?” Marya demands. Finally, she frees her arm from Hélène’s grasp, jerking it away and re-settling her shawl around her shoulders. 

“He has proposed an elopement - he’s made plans to take her away -”

“He what?” Marya’s voice echoes loudly in the sitting room, and she forces herself to quiet, as much as she wants to rage at Hélène. She cannot wake the girls, not now. “He plans to abduct my goddaughter? She’s already engaged! She’s not some - some gypsy girl, she’s a Rostov!”

“And Anatole himself - he’s already married.” Hélène confesses quietly. Marya’s eyes widen.

“He’s - married? Married? And yet he’s promised to marry Natalya?”

“He keeps it a secret. It was - his hand was forced, he never wanted to be married…”

“Well, you’d know something about that, wouldn’t you?” It’s unfair, perhaps, and cruel to bring up Hélène’s marriage again, but in this moment Marya doesn’t care.

Hélène takes a deep breath in response, looking down for a moment. “Yes.” She replies, tersely. “But regardless, if Anatole tries to marry again, he’ll be arrested. And he wants to take her to Poland to avoid this but -"

“So you only care now because it affects you and Anatole, eh?”

“No, I promise - I wouldn’t have come to you if I wasn’t concerned for Natasha, and you.”

“For me?” Marya arches one fine eyebrow, and scoffs. “I’ve never been anything but an amusement to you, same as my goddaughter.”

“That’s not true. Please. I want to help -”

“Prove it.”

Hélène’s eyes flash with resolve, and before Marya can stop her, she reaches out and takes two handfuls of Marya’s shawl. She uses it to yank Marya forward, until the two women are pressed more tightly together than is appropriate even amongst friends. Marya opens her mouth to protest, but is quickly silenced when Hélène kisses her.

It isn’t Marya’s first kiss, exactly. But it’s her first with a woman, the first kind of kiss Marya has ever wanted.

Marya does not register herself making the decision to kiss Hélène back, but suddenly she is, her hands sliding around to grip the other woman’s waist tightly. She feels Hélène’s hands slide dangerously low, slipping over the curve of her ass to rest just below, at the top of her thighs. It is beyond what Marya has always imagined it would be like, to kiss another woman.

She does not know how long they kiss, only that she is left completely breathless when Hélène pulls her mouth away. The Countess does not step back, however, letting her chin simply fall to rest on Marya’s shoulder. Her grip remains strong. Marya can feel the icy shock of her fingers through her skirt, but it doesn’t bother her. 

“You’re still cold.” She murmurs, senselessly. Hélène laughs. The sound vibrates against the skin of Marya’s neck, and she shivers in response.

“I can think of a way to fix that…” Hélène says wickedly. Her voice is so close to Marya’s ear. She feels almost faint. It’s ridiculous. Dragons do not faint. Grown women do not faint.

“Hélène.” Marya protests, weakly, as she feels Hélène’s fingers clutch at her skirt, gathering it up. “We have to -”

“In the morning.”

“You said - we had to do something - we have to tell Natasha he’s married, we have to end their correspondence.”

“And do you wish to wake her up right now? It is past 2 in the morning, Marya.” Hélène presses a kiss to Marya’s neck, just under her jaw. It is very distracting.

“You were the one filled with such urgency -”

“Maybe I just wanted to see you…”

“-you were barely dressed and shivering!”

“I still am barely dressed, under this robe of yours…”

“ _Hélène_.”

Hélène sighs and finally pulls back, letting Marya’s skirts drop back to the floor. It almost feels like a defeat, even if this was what Marya had been aiming for. 

“I was at the club, just before I came to you.” She begins to explain. “It was there Anatole confessed to me he’d asked Dolokhov to write a letter for him - proposing an elopement. I laughed, thinking it was just some foolery - but he was deadly serious. I’d never seen anything like it, in my brother. Anatole is known for fleeting fancies, not - plans. Not anything that requires effort. He asked me for ten thousand roubles and refused to hear any protestations or advice to drop it. I knew it was serious, and that he meant to act fast. I knew I had to get to you before he could send the letter, and I - well, I was a little drunk. I panicked and rushed over. I suppose I should have waited until morning.”

Marya snorts, shaking her head. “Ridiculous. You should have come to me the moment Anatole professed an untoward interest in my goddaughter. How should you have liked it if someone made out to ruin you, before your marriage? You are gossiped about constantly, and you know how damaging it can be, even for someone already settled.”

“I didn’t think.”

“That much is clear.”

“But I also thought - asking Natasha to the ball. It would be an excuse to have you around, too. I was...selfish.”

“I don’t - I don’t understand.”

“Marya. You’re a great beauty, and absolutely ferocious. I’ve always admired you.”

“I had no idea -”

“Of my interest in women? One of many rumors, lost amongst the rest. Although in this case it’s very true.”

“Even so, this is - highly inappropriate. You’re _married_.” 

“It means nothing to us both, and you know it. You’re not going to deny your interest?”

“It seems ineffective considering my hands are still -”

“Ah, yes. You could touch more than my waist, if you like?” 

“ _Hélène_.”

“I kind of like it when you scold me, you know.”

Marya curses softly, then surges forward, nearly knocking Hélène backwards as she initiates their second kiss. The brunette recovers quickly however, hands resuming their earlier roaming. Marya knows this is unwise - it’s not only a married woman, it’s Hélène, and as much as he dislikes her it’s _Pierre’s_ wife and she is a most dangerous woman. There is no guarantee of complete discretion, or any loyalty. But she can’t help herself. It is as they say, Hélène is the most beautiful woman in Moscow - and she’s quite talented with her mouth.

Hélène, stumbling only a little as she refuses to detach from Marya, guides them back towards a chaise lounge. She stops when they are at its edge and shucks off the borrowed dressing gown, left only in her evening dress, the delicate fabric mussed and still a bit damp from the snow. Marya arches an eyebrow.

“You’re starting to warm up, but that dress will do you no favors in that state.” She says. She eyes the pearls around Hélène’s neck - she usually wears a double strand, but it’s a different necklace today. The old one is still in Natasha’s possession. This chain drapes dangerously low, skimming the top of her bosom. She hears Hélène laughing, having likely caught the direction of her gaze.

“Bold, Marya. Already trying to get me out of my dress?”

Marya flushes, but she refuses to stammer or show her embarrassment. She may be new to this, but she is still Marya Dmitrievna Akhrosimova. She doesn’t back down. Deliberately, she pushes Hélène down onto the lounge and hoists up her own skirts, freeing her legs to straddle the other woman. Hélène’s smirk, even under smeared lipstick, is intoxicating.

“Maybe later. If you’re good.” Marya says finally, before leaning down for another kiss. Hélène’s hands come up to tangle in her hair, and it feels so exquisite it’s almost painful. She surrenders to this foreign feeling because there is no other way; she is helpless. She is happy.

In the end, it is past 3 in the morning when Marya takes Hélène upstairs and into her bed. Hélène falls asleep when they have exhausted themselves with pleasure, and Marya does not wake her and force her to leave, as she knows she should. Instead, she lets herself fall asleep next to her. She curls close to her. She lets Hélène wrap herself around Marya like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And if, when she wakes up first to weak sunlight streaming in through the windows, she takes a moment just to watch Hélène sleep - well, no one will ever know.

After all, it is morning now. And they have an abduction to stop.


End file.
